June 16th 2008

Shambhala Center

workshop writings

Posts from the writers:

in the order received

"Eating Brunch Alone At Honey's Sit N Eat"

By CS

I don't care what anyone thinks. I am eating brunch alone at Honey's Sit N Eat. It's kind of peaceful this way. No screaming kids, no one asking me what's for breakfast. I wonder what they're eating, though. Jack probably made some scrambled eggs and Ellie is likely crying because they are too runny. I'm not sure why we moved to this neighborhood. Because of the house and my job, I am stuck in this God forsaken city. Escape is eating brunch alone at Honey's. Maybe next week I'll just get in the car and drive to the suburbs.

When we first moved to the city, I hated the suburbs. Hated how every house looked the same. Hated strip malls, cars. highways. Now, I hate that little drop of water that falls on my head from the air conditioner above me when I am walking down the street. I hate ambulances, police cars and fire trucks. I hate having my air conditioner on all Summer long because it's too loud outside to sleep.

So this is where I end up every Sunday. At Honey's. Alone. In this crowded city. This living arrangement was supposed to be more communal. My neighbors are almost on top of me. I don't even know their names. Ellie waves to them when she sees them and they wave back, but I haven't bothered.

"The Band"
By CS

The band is their life. They met in a small town outside the city when they were in high school and they've been together ever since.

Most of them wonder and worry if John will go over the deep end when the last performance is over. All this time the other band members have cleaned up his messes, nursed his hangovers, dealt with his inadequacies. Because they love each other.

They don't tell each other how much they love each other, but each one of them knows. It doesn't ever need to be said.

Larry would say it, but he knows he'd never hear the end of it - his fellow band members always poke fun at him anyway. Larry wants to say it now. He wants them to know that in this moment he feels great happiness in having spent his life doing what he loves with people he loves.

As the band gets ready to go on stage for the last time, each one of them feels the happiness and sadness of the others.

When they walk on stage together the walk is slow, and deliberate. The night flies by and the fans are fantastic. They end the night as they always do—with a shot of whiskey and a one-armed hug. But this time, Larry says it. "I love you guys." No one makes fun of him. No one says it back either.

Topic: A husband has just left his wife and the cat won’t stop meowing.

by Chrissy

When he left, he left his crap- half a drum set, plants, some plant seeds, no mulch, a black light, a broken fan. Whatever. It doesn’t surprise me because he never picked up after himself. And I don’t miss him. In fact, I dread the moment he might return to reclaim his shit. He left me, and I’m over it.

What I didn’t expect was Ginger. Ginger won’t eat. Ginger won’t sleep, and she meows into the night like I live with the goddamn blue cat from ‘Pet Semetary.’ Ginger needs to die, I think, up all friggin’ night when I have to teach a 7:30 am class the next morning. Then, somewhere in the 3:00- 4:00 am bracket, when delirium settles in, I think, Jesus Ginger, you sound like my insides, my cold and needy insides that still allow the shard of hope to penetrate them—the hope that he will return to reclaim his shit... And that he is the only person I will ever love.

It’s like Clarice’s bleating sheep, the dying brakes on my Honda, a nail file on my pinky toe, the sound—indestructible distress. A reminder. A warning, maybe… but not like ‘it’s time for an oil change’ warning, like a nuclear power plant alarm permeating a sleepy town to call to arms. Fucking Armageddon. I haven’t slept yet.

Ginger knows too much, I decide. She has never left this house. She knows the life that was here.. the misery, the misery… and him… fuck. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Chrissy just graduated from Temple University with a Masters Degree in Speech/Language Pathology. She lives by the Art Museum in Philadelphia with her two cats, Carlos and Tucker. Chrissy likes to write poetry, ride her bike, and drink red wine with her friends. She just accepted a job at Taylor Hospital. Chrissy's favorite color is green, and her favorite poem is "For the Sleepwalkers," by Edward Hirsch.

A husband leaves his wife and his wife is left with the couple's cat that will not stop meowing....

A husband leaves his wife and his wife is left with the couple's cat that will not stop meowing.......To make matters worse, the cat has not been fed for days, and there is no cat food in the house. It's 11:30 pm, and now there are no stores open to even get the food. Suddenly, she realizedthat the cat meowing was the least of her problems. Why would he decide to leave now of all times? Rent would soon be due, and she hadn't worked steadily at a job in months. She had enough money of her own to take a bus across town, and that was about it.

"Bastard! What a bastard he is, leaving me now just as my exhibition of recent gothic watercolors is about to open! The framing isn't all done, postcards need to be sent out, the gallery has to finish the press kits...the timing could not be worse. Bastard!" she yelled again out loud. At the sound of the word "bastard" being yelled out, the cat suddenly ran out of the room, and the meowing stopped. In the silence, she was alone completely with her thoughts, and they filled her head relentlessly. She thought of all the hopes and dreams she had in this marriage. The early days of their romance when all they could do was spend every moment of every day together. How it was absolute agony to be apart for even a minute.

How he loved her art.....

Kevin S has long been interested in creative writing, but this is his first serious venture into the realm. He has ventured into writing haiku when he lived at San Francisco Zen Center and Toshoji Zen temple in Japan. In Japan, he also wrote a monthly column called Genmai Nikki (Brown Rice Diary) for International Culture News, about his life in Japan as a non-Japanese. His favorite writers include Haruki Murakami, Peter Matthiessen, Gary Snyder, Carlos Castaneda and Amy Tan.